A Different Home

For the first time since April 2014, I went home for a visit. It was a really great trip, with lots of eating, talking and spending time with family and friends. I’ll put some photos up below, but in keeping with my general aversion to travelogue-style entries, I’ll spare you the details. Instead, I want to write in a more general vein, about the idea of going home when home isn’t exactly home anymore.

The minute I stepped out of the airport into the barely controlled chaos of LAX, I felt that everything was completely familiar. Like I went to San Diego or somewhere close by for the weekend, and was just heading back to my little house in the hills to sleep in my own bed again. Except I sold that little house over 2 years ago, and the bed is sitting in a storage unit in Montebello. The feeling, though, was in my bones and in spite of certain realities could not be shaken off. I drove my rental car without even thinking about directions – just went where I needed to go. And boy, did I enjoy driving again!

There were some dissonant moments, though. For instance, I was staying in the house of a very generous friend who happens to live 2 houses down from my sister’s house. So every time I drove there, I felt like I was going to visit Mimi, my sister. But Mimi sold that house a year ago and now lives on a farm in southern Washington. Another example – I was in Burbank, and automatically drove to where I had gotten on the 134 freeway literally hundreds of times before, all those times I came home from working in San Francisco or Sacramento via Burbank Airport, and … it wasn’t there any more! Instead, there was a huge wall, and I had to drive a few miles more (back to where I came from) to get on the freeway.

But generally, I fell back into all of the easy relationships I have always had with the city, and with my network of friends who live there. L.A. seemed very much the same, though I’ve been told that Hollywood has exploded with new development, which doesn’t surprise me in the least, considering Mayor Garcetti’s cozy relationship with developers when he represented the district. I didn’t see it though – no reason to go there, though I drove through a few times. It looked pretty much the same to me, as did the rest of the city. So it felt to me like coming home, except that I have no home there anymore.

So, this begs the question – is Georgia home now? I think I have to say … no. It’s still a foreign country, not my own. There are many things (and people) that I love here, and I feel very comfortable here, but it doesn’t feel like home, really. L.A. feels like home, but it isn’t really, and probably never will be again. So this leaves me strangely stranded in the middle somewhere. It’s not necessarily a bad feeling, but it’s very different from being a visitor – or the opposite, a native, or at least grounded in a particular culture and place.

Interesting. We’ll see where it all leads, if anywhere. In the meantime, here are some of the people I saw and spent time with and really felt loved by back in L.A. – home, or whatever it is.

3 thoughts on “A Different Home

  1. Leigh M

    I can relate completely and thank you for finding the words to express the strangeness. I wasn’t in Azebaijan as long as you’ve been in Georgia, but I had also sold my house before leaving and when I returned to the States had to reconcile the feeling of being somewhere familiar but not really home. I have dreams and intentions of returning permanently to my beloved New Mexico, where I will establish a NEW home, InshAllah. You, my dear, are now a citizen of the world, and will find that ‘home’ again someday.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s